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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983461">New York City, please go easy on this heart of mine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofmillion/pseuds/alotofmillion'>alotofmillion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baseball, Fluff, Husbands, M/M, Moving Angst, My New Yorker side is showing, New York City, New York Yankees, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Slice of Life, Toronto Blue Jays</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:08:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983461</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofmillion/pseuds/alotofmillion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In spite of its shortcomings – the indisputable noise, the endless sea of people, the labyrinth of streets and avenues, and the overall sensory overload – there’s enough for Patrick to appreciate about New York.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>New York City, please go easy on this heart of mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Most of this is a word dump of my own feelings and emotions, as a New Yorker riding out the pandemic and missing my city so much I can barely breathe. It is told entirely from Patrick's point of view. </p><p>They always say to write what you know, so all the recommendations in the fic are also real places that I know and love. This fic also doesn't reference the pandemic or the lockdown as even a remote possibility. This is also my first Schitt's Creek fic... so go easy on me!</p><p>Thank you so much to Jenna (a fellow New Yorker) for being an incredible beta. I appreciate your help more than you know!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In spite of its shortcomings – the indisputable noise, the endless sea of people, the labyrinth of streets and avenues, and the overall sensory overload – there’s enough for Patrick to appreciate about New York.</p><p>It’s not a beeline decision to leave Schitt’s Creek; rather, more of an inevitability. The dream and the prospect of owning their dream cottage from <i>The Holiday</i> remains just that – a dream, washed away in a prospective mortgage that could very well pull them under. (Not to mention a long laundry list of renovations to the sweet monetary equivalent of… too many espresso machines.)</p><p>In search of finding their starter home (or hell, at least something more feasible than Patrick’s studio), Patrick and David turn to the minimal hodgepodge of prospective apartments and more budget-friendly houses. But there’s a lost promise in all of them; an unspoken devastation in accepting less than what they bargained for.</p><p>Even Stevie is gone more days than not, driving to and from prospective motels within Ontario and Upstate New York, as the impact of her role proves to be more complex than anyone could have anticipated. After a few months, a plucky, young employee takes her spot at the front desk of the Rosebud Motel, flannels and chucks swapped for an official name tag (logo and all) and branded company polos.</p><p>They mull over a few options, from finding a home in Elmdale and commuting, to settling roots in Toronto and steadily expanding the business. But ultimately, a late summer trip to New York to visit Alexis sets a spell on both of them. As they walk the streets hand-in-hand and dine under Edison bulbs and outdoor canopies, David vibrates with a rekindled exuberance that Patrick hasn’t seen in months. </p><p>Though slightly overwhelmed, the city breathes life into Patrick, as well. He sees the promise of something new and refreshing and challenging. </p><p>On their first wedding anniversary a few weeks later, Patrick proposes again over plates of David’s ambitious attempt at vegetable lasagna. But instead of four brushed metal knuckle rings, it’s a cheesy New York keychain and <i>yes, I want this, too</i> and an unyielding promise to keep each other happy, regardless of where they call home. David, once again, unequivocally says yes.</p><p>Still, it’s a difficult decision to come to. To leave the home and the shop where they started their life together – especially the shop. After a bit of scouting, they eventually find trustworthy partners in friends of Ronnie to take over the Apothecary; a lesbian couple out of Elm Glen with David’s vision and Patrick’s practicality. Most of Patrick’s minimalist furniture – curated, in all honesty, by David – is hauled to the city and deposited into a temporary storage unit in Brooklyn.</p><p>After a whirlwind week of crashing on Alexis’s pull out couch, they find a third-floor one bedroom in a brownstone in Park Slope, not more than 20 minutes by foot from the future location of their new shop. It's functional and cute, with original crown molding and tall, pre-war ceilings and one stained glass window. Geographically, it’s neighborly and friendly and a perfect substitute for small town living. </p><p>But it’s expensive, too. Which leads to a bit of squabbling as they settle into a new city with a fledgling business to grow and work visas admittedly out of Patrick’s depth. No longer is Patrick the expert; for matters of business, they bring on a consultant to help them navigate the paperwork and loans and cut through the red tape. In the midst of acclimating himself to a new city, a new country; hell, even a new currency, Patrick’s polished resolve is steadily fading.</p><p>Two months in, the veneer of embarking on a new journey has officially faded and the new shop is a construction nightmare. Acquiring new vendors has proven to be an uphill battle – not to mention, the tariffs of shipping any product across the border has higher interest than Patrick anticipated. </p><p>One night, Patrick comes home soaking wet from a downpour and David says something impulsive and Patrick just snaps, because David says too much and Patrick talks too little. They can’t look each other in the eye for an hour, until the power goes out and they lay it all out over Chinese takeout and shop candles. Patrick isn’t a crier, but he’ll be damned if the last vestiges of his pride don’t start to crack in David’s arms. That evening, they agree to never go to bed angry.</p><p>On more days than not, it’s more overwhelming than Patrick can even contextualize. But so had been packing a suitcase and breaking off an engagement and turning a key into an ignition and leaving behind an inauthentic life. So had been meeting David Rose and falling head over heels in love with him and finding a home in a silly town called Schitt’s Creek, of all places.</p><p>With patience and compromise and the gift of time, Patrick finds a home again in New York. And as they cross the six-month barrier, he begins to unravel and discover what he and his husband add to the city, rather than what the city potentially chips away.</p><p>Things become familiar and habitual. Nickels, dimes, and quarters and the bland grey-green bills of American currency become ingrained. He eventually stops fumbling with his MTA card and learns to power walk through the city like a bull in a china shop. In time, there’s a quiet and understated solidarity in the anonymity New York affords them, and in the warm, even quaint life they settle into even in the city that never sleeps.</p><p>Patrick learns to rediscover home time and time again in the little things that steadily disassociate New York from an expansive metropolis.</p><p>It’s in David’s uninhibited scream-cry as Tina Turner hits the stage at the Garden, and the clench of their palms as they sway back and forth to “Simply the Best” – at both the venue and in the safety of their apartment later that night.</p><p>It’s in the rush of footsteps during their first summer in the city, as Rose Apothecary opens to fond reception and finds a perfect niche on a street somewhere in Cobble Hill or Boerum Hill (depending on which local one asks). It’s in the customers that come back again and again, and the two regulars they hire on as hourly employees to give themselves back an eight hour day.</p><p>(As for their regulars, the affluent moms of Park Slope and Brooklyn Heights fall for David’s curated lifestyle recommendations, while the artsy, queer crowds of East Williamsburg and Windsor Terrace flock following glowing highlights in <i>Out Magazine</i> and <i>The Advocate</i>. Because David Rose is still David Rose.)</p><p>It’s in the cherry blossoms which rain a blanket of rain-kissed, pink petals along the shop’s doorway in the spring, and the twinkle of warm, white bulbs glimmering off its windows after a December snowfall. </p><p>It’s in the Pride flags, seemingly adorned everywhere, in June, and the heavy exhale of life as the city explodes with the greatest celebration of love Patrick has ever experienced.</p><p>And it’s in the simpler moments, too, like nights hunched over small bar and café tables on their dates in the city. Like the Black Cat on the Lower East Side where Patrick schools David on how to play checkers. Or Bathtub Gin in Chelsea, where they sip glasses of cognac and Patrick pretends to be sophisticated, for David’s sake. They often meet up with Alexis somewhere in the West Village, or convince her to cross the Brooklyn Bridge to grab tacos in DUMBO or somewhere downtown.</p><p>In their three and a half years in the city, they carve out a small list of regular spots to strewn hands and share stories, as two husbands in love, or among the friends they’ve made along the way, old and new. They host Stevie on their futon every time she comes to the city, inevitably dragging her to garbage shows like <i>STOMP</i> or <i>Chicago</i> – as both a running inside joke, and because Groupon.</p><p>After five long years, Patrick finally coerces David to a Yankees vs. Blue Jays game at Yankee Stadium, under the pretense that the pretzels and hot dogs are outstanding (for which they are and they aren’t, all at the same time). </p><p>It’s a tense game, bringing out an abrasively competitive side in Patrick that David is outspokenly less attracted to. But even as the 9th inning closes and the home plate sweeps the game, Patrick can’t bring himself to be too crestfallen. Not even in his worn in and well-loved Jays jersey and ball cap.</p><p>Because somewhere in between stealing kisses in yellow cabs and perusing old, dusty bookshops and walking hand-in-hand through Prospect Park and waving to friendly, familiar faces at their local coffee shop, Patrick had fallen head over heels in love with New York and made it his home. The same way he’d fallen head over heels for David: unexpectedly, bravely, and with complete authenticity.</p>
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